


The History of the World (Is Filled with Love and Death)

by kappa77



Category: Buffalo Wizards RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Inspired by Music, Lords of Minecraft!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kappa77/pseuds/kappa77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His Master has been harrowing him, the Lords have been too cheery too often. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.</p><p>Inspired by Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street<br/>Thanks to FireRedLily for betaing<br/>(Originally Posted 4/18/15)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The History of the World (Is Filled with Love and Death)

**Author's Note:**

> Complete AU from the canon lore. For a frame of reference, it’s been roughly 60-70 years since Deadbones met Alana.

Deadbones groaned as pain began to form near the front of his head. He braced himself as his skull began to feel far too small for his brain, feeling as if the bone itself was warping and shifting in order to make room for a second person.

 **“You are slacking on your soul-gathering. We require more!”** the Eldritch Horror boomed inside his head, making his skull rattle slightly. Deadbones clamped his hands where his ears would’ve been, trying to lessen the shaking.

 **“Do you hear us!?”** the being boomed again.

Deadbones’ knees buckled, falling onto the rough netherrack. With the second, yelling, inhuman voice ordering him from inside his head, it was a battle to keep his mentality in check. It felt like a struggle to keep repeating, _“I’m Lord Deadbones, I’m my own person, Aglk-kutuul is my master, but nothing else. I’m my own person with my own thoughts. The dual voices in my head are only temporary; it’ll all be over soon.”_

“Yes, yes I hear you, Master,” he said, teeth clenched. The sound of low rumbling came from the being. He could’ve sworn it was laughter.

 **“Good. We will tell you when you are done,”** they hissed.

Then they were gone just as quickly as they came, the echoes fading and the garble of voices disappearing. Deadbones let his hands drop from his head to catch himself before he landed face first on the red rocks. He stayed on his hands and knees, breaths coming in slow, even measures. Unnecessary, he knew, what with being undead and immortal and all, but it calmed him, bringing up vague feelings of a heartbeat beginning to slow as heaving gasps slowing to regular exhales.

Deadbones sighed, moving to a kneeling position, resting on his ankles. His Master grew needier for souls by the day, always making him go out to the town to kill off a dozen or so peasants to appease the Horror. The practice made him improve on his archery skills, but he still would rather be making more use of his time that by just killing innocents.

He stood up, brushing the red dust off his black robes.

“Just another day in the service of an Eldritch Horror,” he muttered to himself.

He bowed his head and began to mouth words his Master had taught him to aid in his service. Not even Nisovin could know of the magic, far too old and archaic to be written in his dusty spell books.

He focused on his destination, starting to murmur the words quietly. Red dust began to circle him, rising in the air in a swirling vortex. Despite the seemingly chaotic winds, not a speck of red touched his bones.

When the winds died down, Deadbones had vanished.

—

The snow fell softly, graying out the sky and covering all of DongDank in a layer of pristine white. Peasants that could afford the materials were wrapped head to toe in furs and wools, with leather shoes on to protect their feet. Children ran around, rolling snowballs and building snowmen in the likeness of the lords. Torches and lanterns enchanted by Nisovin still shone brightly despite the winds, casting a warm yellow glow about the Market Square.

By the bank, sudden, unnatural winds began to twist in a spiral, suctioning snow and creating a small snow tornado. Several peasants stopped to stare while the others ignored it, some even walking quicker in the opposite direction.

As the winds continued to spin, a figure appeared in the vortex, the only details visible were the black cloths it wore, it’s red eyes, and the gleaming purple sword at his side. Those peasants who stayed to watch, took a step back.

The winds died down just as quickly as they came, swirling slower and slower till the snow fell down around Deadbones.

As the effects of teleportation wore off, a cold wind blew straight through him, kicking up the snow that was falling and already on the ground. He shook the snow off his black robes before it would melt.

“I think I like traditional Nether portal travel,” he muttered to himself, brushing off the last bit of snow. With a flick of his sword, he walked out of the corner.

Peasants backed away as he walked by, making him smile a little. Sometimes he would forget of the power he held, both over the peasants and the lords, how he could kill any peasant he wanted and how he could get away with just about anything.

Those thoughts always got him in the mood for a good killing. He grinned menacingly, pulling out his sword as he stepped on to Main Street.

Whether peasants were headed to the market, their homes, or to one of the many events hosted on a regular basis, the street was always packed. And despite each peasant knowing full well what happened if one got too close to a Lord, there was always those few who wanted to get an up close look to see whether the lords really were “as scary as they looked”.

Those were always the most satisfying to kill.

Deadbones twirled his sword, readying himself for the slaughter.

—

“Alms! Alms!” a beggar woman cried out, hands cupped in front of her. “Alms for a desperate woman on a cold day!” She stepped forward on to Main Street as people passed. Not one gave her a second look.

Another wind blew through, blowing straight through her thin clothes, the chill burning through her skin, straight through to her bones.

She sighed in defeat, gripping the edges of her threadbare cloak. She looked around for more people, someone kind enough to give her enough money to survive the night.

Her eyes lit up when she came across a figure in black robes, standing out amongst the crowd. But more visible than the black was the golden jewelry he wore. Surely he’d have a coin or two to spare.

Wrapping her cloak tighter around herself, she ducked her head down and began trudging through the snow.

—

Deadbones wiped off the last remaining spot of blood from his sword. His grip tightened as the familiar sensation of two voices invaded his skull.

 **“Very good. We are appeased for today,”** Aglk-kutuul growled contently. Deadbones kept his grip on both sword hilt and the blade tight until the Eldritch Horror left his mind. His shoulders slumped down; he hadn’t even realized how tensed he had been.

He shook his head, clearing any lingering voices from his consciousness. He sheathed his sword and began mouthing the words to transport back. A hand on his shoulder jolted him from his spell casting. He whirled around, hand falling to his sword, but it slipped when he saw the woman.

She was more poorly dressed than even those in the Slums; greasy, stringy, black hair, a thin, ripped, black dress, and a shawl made out of many different types of fabric. Her head was bowed as she spoke.

“Alms, sir! Alms, that’s all I ask for!” she rasped. Once her voice could’ve been beautiful, but Deadbones assumed years of being poor on the streets ruined her voice.

He looked at the woman for a moment.

_A seaside town. Warm winds carrying the smell of the ocean. Something smooth in hands._

_“I won’t be gone long… Keep this, so you won’t forget me.”_

_Warmth._

Deadbones snapped his head back, the daydream fading just as quickly as it had come. He waved a hand, partially at the woman still in front of him and in part toward the nonsense he had imagined.

“I don’t have time for you, woman,” he said firmly, “Annoy someone else.“

_Holding… something. He can’t see it, the image too blurry._

_“You have no idea how good it is to see you_.”

He shook his head again, turning around to teleport. He expected the woman to do as he said, as most other peasants did. She interrupted once more, gnarled hand grabbing at his cloak.

He glared at her, grabbing her arm and pushing her off balance. As she regained her balance, the old woman lifted up her head, revealing rich, brown eyes, before she ducked her head down, hood covering her face again.

“Don’t I know you, sir?” she asked softly.

Deadbones stiffened, something in the question making his grip go lax.

“I’m one of the lords of the realm. You should know me.”

“But your voice…” the woman trailed off. She stared at the ground for a moment in silence. Deadbones brought a hand up to her face, about to pull away the hood too see if she hadn’t died right there on the spot.

Suddenly, her arms shot up, grabbing on to his arms and shaking him.

"Alms! Alms, sir, please!” she cried.

Deadbones’ mouth opened in shock at the dramatic mood swing. With some effort, he pulled his hands free of the crazed woman. He took a step back, composing himself. Peasants rarely acted out like that to the lords. Deadbones clenched his hands into fists, anger washing over him because of this woman who thought of herself so highly as to grab and ask for money from a lord.

_“I think I could say your name forever and never get tired.”_

He growled, the visions only deepening his fury. He grabbed her thin arm in a vice like grip, making her moan in pain.

“Is that any way to treat your Lord?” he questioned, a dark tone in his voice.

The beggar woman, still with her head down, continued to beg. “Please sir, I only need a couple of coins!”

An onlooking peasant chimed in with, “Don’t be so hard on the ol’ woman, m'lord! She’s been standing at that spot since she’s arrived here!”

Holding hands with someone, his face hurting from… smiling?

_“…I’ve loved you since I first met you…”_

Deadbones quickly rotated his head without turning his body to glare at the peasants. They slunk back without a word. He turned fully back to the beggar woman, suddenly more angry and annoyed than he had been before. With the demanding master, the irritating peasants, this begging woman, and whatever bullshit his brain was coming up with, his skull felt like it was going to burst.

In a fit of fury, the lord yanked on her arm, eliciting a scream from the old woman as he dragged her to the middle of the street. He let go of her, practically throwing her to the cobbled street. The hood she had on shifted slightly, but still not enough for her face to be seen.

_“…and I will continue to do so till I die…”_

Many peasants stopped to stare at the Lord and poor woman. He pulled out his sword as they began to shuffle closer, curious to see what the commotion was.

“Let this be a lesson to those who constantly get into the Lords’ faces!” he said, red eyes glaring

With a swift motion, he plunged his blade straight through the woman’s heart.

_“Probably even past that.”_

There was a soft gasp from her before she slumped forward, head knocking against his hand. Some of the peasants gasped or screamed as the life slipped away from the beggar, while others shrugged it off, too used to the killings to be affected by it.

Deadbones placed a hand on her shoulder to push back as he withdrew his blade. When the blood soaked sword was out, he pushed the body back, done with it.

_“So…Will you marry me?”_

He brought up his sword to clean it once again, when he stopped, catching a glimpse of the woman in the corner of his eye. He lowered the sword to his side and knelt down beside her. It had only been for a moment, but he could’ve sworn the face was familiar. He pulled back the hood of the woman and stared.

_“Look! It’s our son!”_

She looked beautiful, even at her age. Laughter lines around her eyes, smile lines around her lips, and more wrinkles everywhere else. Her gray, wiry hair fanned out behind her, turning more white as the snow continued to fall. Her brown eyes were half covered and Deadbones brought a hand up to close them, the striking contrast of white bone to dark skin not lost to him.  He brushed her cheek, across her wrinkles, searching through his memories to who she was.

_“Oh no, oh no, no, no, no.”_

“I’ve been alive too long,” he thought absentmindedly. The woman couldn’t have been too important in his life if he had forgotten her name, right?

But his mind kept bringing up those visions and voices, his voice, none the less. That last one he had experienced before, but the rest only had that vague sense of déjà vu.

Still, he wanted to know her name, if only to put his mind at rest. He looked up and saw the peasant who had chimed in earlier walk past.

“Hey, you!” the lord called. The peasant jumped before turning to Deadbones.

“Do you know her name?” he asked, much more calm than before, but the authority in his voice evident.

The peasant gaped for a moment before replying, “I- I think she said it was Alana.”

_Alana…_

 

A _seaside town he had visited while on naval leave. Meeting her at a bar and falling for her instantly. Spending his entire time there with her, dreading the day he would have to leave to continue serving his time at sea._

_Standing by the ship the day he had to leave, holding his medallion in one hand and Alana’s hand in the other._

_“I won’t be gone long, Alana.” he said, “Keep this, so you won’t forget me.” And slipping the necklace over her head.  
_

_Returning to the small island after far too long, Alana running up to meet him and jumping into his arms. Burying his face into her hair and holding her tight, never wanting to leave where he was._

_Mumbling into her hair, “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”_

_Bringing her to his homeland, ignoring the rumors the followed the two of them, still content no matter what others said._

_Quiet evenings spent not doing much of anything, just being with each other._

_“I think I could say your name forever and never get tired. Alana… Alana… Alana…”_

_His heart pounding as he took her hand, grin blinding._

_“Alana, I’ve loved you since I first met you and I will continue to do so till I die. Hell, probably even past that.”_

_She giggled, and that just made him smile more. He got down on one knee and looked up to her, slowly pulling out the ring he had spent nearly half his earnings on._

_“So, Alana, will you marry me?”_

_She flew forward, knocking him in the dirt, kissing him fiercely. It was only when they both needed air did she finally whisper, “Yes.”_

_Holding a tiny bundle of warmth in his arms, his son- their son. God, it was too much for him to comprehend._

_“It’s a boy,” he said, with the largest grin on his face, “Alana, look! It’s our son!”_

_He turned to his wife, so proud and happy of Alana and what she’s made. He held their son out to her, expecting her to take the baby, to want to hold him, but she didn’t move from where she lay._

_“Alana?” he asked, pulling his son closer to his chest. He gently shifted his grip on him to hold him in one arm, using the other to pull back the covers. His hand went limp as his brain registered the sight of all the blood. He brought his hand to his wife’s forehead, not feeling it shake as he touched her cool forehead, far too cold for someone living._

_“Oh no, oh no, no, no, no.”_

“M'lord? M'lord, snap out of it!”

Deadbones gasped, panting hard after being violently ripped from his thoughts. He looked at the dead woman again, hand going to his mouth as his memories came flooding through.

“M'lord?” the peasant asked. “Are you alright?”

“Alana… Alana, my Alana,” he whispered, still knelt over her, too scared to move.

The peasant spoke again. “My Lord?”

Deadbones let his head hang limp, staring at his dead wife.

“Leave me,” he whispered.

The peasant didn’t ask twice and soon the sounds of retreating footsteps filled the air. Then there was silence as the snow continued to fall, collecting on the corpse and sliding off the Lord.

He tentatively touched her face. Now there was no doubt the woman was Alana; her hair he loved to tangle in his fingers when she rested her head in his lap, her eyes, so keen and perceptive, always able to pick up on small details.

“‘Don’t I know you?’ you said. God, nothing could get by you, hm? Recognized me just by my voice,” he muttered to himself, voice cracking.

Deadbones slowly stroked Alana’s hair, brushing off snowflakes that had gathered there, making it look as white as his bones.

“You were always too smart for your own good.”

Slowly, he brought his arms underneath her, bringing her to his chest and burying his face into her hair, the memories of smelling warm spices and the faint scent of soap and flowers filling his mind.

“That’s why I made you live again,” he muttered into her hair.

Memories swarmed up, ones he had long since been forced to forget along with anything relating to Alana. He gasped softly, punching into the snow with one hand as he forced himself to relive that day.

 

_It wasn’t the first time he had met with The Imprisoned one, and it certainly wasn’t the last, but it was by far the quickest. The chant spilled from his lips in a garbled mess of Eldritch, gasping breaths in the middle of words and tears running down his cheeks._

_Reality warped around him, a mess of blacks and greens until it stopped, the old magic having transported him into the prison of Aglk-kutuul. Walls of bedrock and space surrounded them, expanding infinitely on all sides. The Eldritch Horror sat there, just like always, but through blurred vision, Deadbones could’ve sworn they were smiling._

_Deadbones knelt down on nothing, an act of deference he rarely did to anyone, leaving this instance to be the only exception._

_“Hail, Aglk-kutuul,” he said, voice sounding hollow and raspy, “ I humbly come to you for a single request.”_

_**“Knowing you, it won’t be a simple one,”** the Horror retorted._

_Deadbones squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, biting his tongue to stop the automatic snarky reply. He needed to do this, there was no going back empty handed. He knew he would put up with anything and do whatever it took._

_He continued, “I… I want you to bring back my wife, Alana.”_

_The Horror paused for a moment. **“Why are you asking us? It was natural, we had nothing to do with her death.”**_

_“But she shouldn’t have died!” he shouted, fist slamming into nothing. He stopped for a moment, chest heaving as he tried to reign in his anger. He knew he’d get nothing if he started screaming._

_“She shouldn’t have died. She was too young and she had more hopes and dreams than I could think of. So please,” Deadbones looked straight at Aglk-kutuul, hands clenched at his sides. “I beg of you, let her live again.”_

_The Horror was silent for a moment, eyes darting in all directions as they thought it over. Deadbones waited with bated breath._

**_“What are you willing to give up?”_ **

_“My life,” he said without missing a beat. He stood up, straight and tall, his hands falling to his sides. “Let me die and Alana live.”_

_**“But I’m not done with you yet,”** the Eldritch Horror grumbled. Deadbones tried to figure out what they mean by that, but his thoughts were interrupted._

**_“We know. Give up your mortality and serve us and I’ll bring your wife back to life. Is it a deal?”_ **

_“Yes, yes dear God, yes!” Deadbones exclaimed, heart soaring._

_Without warning, Aglk-kutuul began chanting words he didn’t recognize. The alien words seemed to pick up the dead air and swirl it around him. With the words ringing in his ears, the idea of silence seemed lost to him, the low chanting filling in and dead space. For only a moment, Deadbones felt something shift. Nothing physically changed around him, but the Horror altered something in the universe, that was obvious._

_They stopped chanting, an overbearing silence fell on them._

_**“It is done,”** they said. **“She no longer dwells with the dead.”**_

_“Can I see her?”_

_The Eldritch Horror made no reply, only waved their arm, forming a light blue, glowing orb in front of Deadbones. Through it, he could see his wife, alive and healthy and smiling, holding their newborn son in their bed. His eyes never left the image as the film continued, Alana looking at their son with so much love and adoration. Deadbones didn’t even notice the tears running down his face._

**_“And now,”_ ** _they interrupted,_ **_“for your part of the agreement.”_ **

_They took the orb away with another wave of their arm. He reached out for it as it disappeared, as if touching it would bring him back to the life he knew, the life he wanted._

_He barely heard them chant, too lost in his own thoughts of “She’s alive, she’s alive and well.” It was only when he felt pain pick at his skin, did he notice the low rumbling chant. The pain spread slowly down his arms and up his legs, till it congregated at his heart, searing pain feeling like a spike in his heart. Then, with another incomprehensible word from the Horror, the pain scattered to his entire body, the intensity not fading. He barely registered his screams as he dropped to his knees, landing on nothing._

_Pain flared from every inch of his body, searing at his skin and brain. He clawed at any part of his body that he could, drawing blood, but not registering it. Another surge of pain and the corners of his vision suddenly went black. The darkness grew closer as he stared up at Aglk-kutuul, one thought on his mind._

_“My son- he doesn’t have a name.”_

A cold wind rattling through his skull and ribs brought him out of his trace with a gasp. He buried his face farther into Alana’s hair as the lingering threads of memories dissipated from the corners of his mind. It took him a moment before he realized he was gasping for breath he didn’t need, near hyperventilation point if he had lungs.

“What have I done?”

It felt wrong, but he knew he had to bury her. He’d barely processed her being there in DongDank and her death and how he was the one to kill her-

“I’ve killed my own wife. I’ve killed my own wife. I’ve killed-”

He smacked himself in the side of the head, stopping his thoughts in their tracks. He could think about that later, when he was alone in the Nether. Now he focused on getting Alana out from the middle of Main Street.

Carefully, he slipped his other arm under her legs and lifted her up as he stood up. He turned away, pointedly not looking at the mark left in the snow, deep red against pure white, cast in the golden torch light.

He walked forward, muttering the words for the teleportation spell under his breath. As he did so, images of far off places that never felt the icy touch of winter filtered through his mind. The spell had it’s limits, but he knew there would be at least one place that he deemed suitable to bury, and that she would be at peace in.

The snow kicked up as the air twisted around him. He continued to look forward to the horizon, above the stone gray walls that surrounded the city. As the snow continued to billow around him and grow as tall as he, his gaze shifted to his wife in his arms.

In another instant, the snow fell, and Deadbones disappeared.


End file.
